
Class __^Lji£7_6t_ 



Book 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



BATTLE OF NEW MARKET, VA. 

MAY 15th, 1864. 



An Address 



REPEATED BY 



JOHN S.WISE, Esq 



BEFORE THE 



VIRGINIA MILITARY INSTITUTE, 

MAY 13th, 1882. 



/ 



BATTLE OF NEW MARKET.VA. 



MAY ibth, 1864. 






A N Address 



REPEATED BY 



JOHN S.WISE, Esq 



A Cadet in the Corps of 1864, 



The Professors, Officers and Cadets ol'tlie Virginia Jfilitary Institute. 



HALL OF THE DIALECTIC SOCIETY. 



MAY 13th. 1882. 



f~~ A^lf 



^^(8 



1^] ?)X(o'>- 



Virginia Military Institute, 
May 15th, 1882. 



Hon. John S. Wise, 

Richmond, Va. 



My Dear Sir : The undersigned, a committee on the part of the 
Corps of Cadets, are directed to express to you their grateful acknowl- 
edgments for the privilege of hearing your historic address on the bat- 
tle of New Market. 

The vivid pictures which you drew of the events in which you were a 
prominent actor, bearing, as you do, the honorable badge of your own 
gallantry, filled every heart among us with pride at the noble achieve- 
ments in battle of the Corps of Cadets of 1864 ; while we all felt that 
you were again as a comrade among us 

We are directed by the unanimous voice of our Corps to request a 
copy of your address for publication. 

We remain, respectfully, 

E. E. HARTSOOK, ^ 
T. O. SMITH, I 

McM. STERRETT, 
A. L. DUNCAN, 
JNO. n. TURNER, 
O. M. RUTLEDGE. 



J- Committee. 



Committee . 



Richmond, Va., May 17th, 1882. 

Messrs. E. E. Hartsook, 
T. O. Smith, 
McM. Sterrett, 
A. L. Duncan, 
Jno. H. Turner, 
O. M. Rutledge. 

Gentlemen : 1 assure you I feel highly gratified at the letter dated 
May 15th, which I to-day received from you. You owe me no thanks 
for the address upon the battle of New ^Market. I felt that the obliga- 
tion was all on my side, for your kind consent to listen to the story, 
and for the privilege of once more mingling with the corps wilh some- 
thing of the old-time feeling of a cadet. 

I have the honor to command a company of volunteers known as the 
Richmond Light Infantry Blues. The company was organized May 
loth, 1793, and is much beloved for its historic associations by the peo- 
ple of Richmond, and, I may almost say, by the people of Virginia. 

Some time since the members of that company requested me to de- 
liver a lecture for its benefit, and T consented, selecting as the subject 
"The Battle of New Market." General Smith, Superintendent of the 
Institute, ever on the alert as to everything directly or indirectly bear- 
ing upon her interests, saw notice of the lecture and requested me to 
repeat it before the corps. I consented gladly, feeling that it was a 
privilege to repeat the story of cadet valor before the successors of 
those whose gallantry I sought to commemorate. I confess that I wag 
not prepared for the m.ore than hearty applause with which you greeted 
me, nor did I hope for the handsome compliment you now pay me. I 
welcomed both, however, without affectation, as does every one the re- 
ciprocated feeling of those he loves. The Institute and her interests 
are very dear to me, and toward every cadet in her walls I feel as to- 



ward a younger brother. You are entirely welcome to the address for 
such use as you may see fit to make of it. If it serves to stimulate the 
manhood of any boy amongst you ; if it arouses or quickens your pride 
in your mother college ; if it turns one ambitious boy towards her 
gates ; aye, even if, falling under the eye of but one of those who 
dressed on the colors at Nevv Market, it warms the blood which al- 
ready begins to cool, and flushes the cheek with a little of the fire of 
that day, I shall feel that the lecture has accomplished all I intended, 
when I began to finger the harpstrings of boyish memory to amuse the 
Old Blues. 

God bless you each and all. 

Yours truly, 

JNO. S. WISE. 



The Battle of New Market, 



Mr. Chairman, 

Ladies and Gentlemen: — 

This invitation to address you came to me 
like the call of a welcome voice to the toiler 
in the heat of noon-day, bidding him to rest in 
the cooling shadows by the brookside, and 
muse awhile upon the freshness and brightness 
of the sun-rise that greeted the outset of his 
work. 

T\\Q object is, in any humble way, to aid the 
Richmond Blues, an organization so old, so 
time honored, so oft tried, so battle stained, so 
entwined in our affections by a thousand inci- 
dents. 



The subject is the Antithesis of that object. 
It is that young band of boys whose single 
military exploit was brilliant and brave as the 
archery of the boy-marksman of the Iliad, who 
stood behind the shield of Ajax Telamon filling 
his enemies with fear, his comrades with ap- 
plauding rapture. 

I have little difficulty therefore, as you may 
guess, in finding words to fill the brief space at 
our disposal. The task may be found to rest 
upon you this evening, for it is proverbially 
easier to talk than to listen when camp stories 
are the theme. 

Some one has said, " Self is a theme upon 
which all grow eloquent but few attentive." 
It is very true. If I transgress this law of good 
sense and etiquette at times, pardon me. It 
ever such an offense is venial it is when we are 
talking of" us boys." 

1 am neither old nor gray. Yet this evening 
finds me more than twice the age I was when 



9 

the Cadet Corps charged the battery at New 
Market. 

The mists begin to gather already about the 
boyish events of which we will talk to-night. 

One must pause from the hurly-burly of to- 
day. One must be alone an hour to muse. 
One must sit down by life's roadside and let 
the dust settle upon the highway before the old 
land-marks, half way back upon the journey, 
come out clear and strong. 

Ah! They are once more growing plain, 
stronger and brighter. What an hour ago was 
dark is now illumined. What was dim stands 
forth bright and clear, only mellowed slightly 
by the halo of the distance. 

There never was that trembling, hesitating, 
pause, which marked the aged minstrels over- 
ture. But the flood-tide of memory that swept 
his harp-strings comes rushing back to me to- 
night. 

I reported to the Superintendent of the Vir- 



ginia Military Institute, Sept. 2nd, 1862, under 
the regulation age of sixteen, but admitted as a 
special favor. Those were stirring times. 

The boy who sought military education then 
did so, not with the vague idea that at some fu- 
ture day it might prove useful, but with the cry 
of Moloch ringing in his ears, almost in hearing 
of the thunder of the guns. 

Bethel and Manassas had been won on land. 
The Merrimac had made her matchless tight in 
Hampton Roads. The first mad rush of war had 
passed. The idea that it was but the thing of a 
day was" fast fading, even from the minds of the 
thoughtless. The disaster of Roanoke Island. A 
winter in Camp. Forts Henry and Donaldson. 
Shiloh. The bloody battles at Mechanicsville, 
Gaines' Mill, Cold Harbor and Malvern Hill had 
tempered the arrogance and subdued the confi- 
dence of men, and taught even the panting im- 
patience of boyhood there was little danger the 
the war would end before it had its chance. 



II 



Predictions that peace would come in ninety 
days had ceased, and too many hearts were al- 
ready bleed i no: to make the dread struggle 
longer the subject of light boast or trivial jest. 

The North and the South had ceased to 
fight with braggadocio ; both were settling 
down grimly to that acting agony of war, 
which, God grant you who have never known 
it may be spared. 

The schools of the State, save the Institute, 
had been closed. Men had been killed in 
battle upon the Campus of William and Mary. 
Her lecture rooms were filled with sick and 
wounded soldiery. Teachers and scholars 
had marched away. Grass was growing upon 
the pavements of the University ; and the 
echoes of solitary footsteps were weird and 
hollow in the deserted portico of old Washing- 
ton College. 

But never, in her whole history, had the 



12 



Institute been so filled with cadets or aglow 
with life. 

Almost entirely depleted at the outbreak 
of hostilities b}'' the draft from her ranks of 
a splendid body of young officers, she had 
been replenished by the " seed corn " of the 
Confederacy, and there was scarcely an his- 
toric name in the South without its youthful 
representative there preparing himself in the 
Military art. 

The blockade, and the growing scarcity of 
every article of luxury and adornment, had 
wrought great changes in the dapper appearance 
of the corps. 

Several years before the war I had seen that 
wonderful coatee with its forty-four buttons 
of shining brass, those marvelous cross-belts 
and patent leather hats, and since peace has 
come again they have bloomed forth afresh in 
all their pristine glory. 



13 

When I was a cadet these outward adorn- 
ments were things of memory or of hope. 

The corps had already had one taste of 
actual service upon a march in May, 1862, to 
the battle of McDowell; and while it had reach- 
ed the battle-field just too late to take part in 
the engagement, the effect of the trip had been 
to about consume the last vestige of good cloth- 
ing in the command. 

No doubt the cadet of to-day would turn up 
his nose at our simple attire. 

He appears with felt chapeau and ten inch 
cock-plume that never knew how to strut, until 
it was plucked from a rooster's tail and stuck 
on the top of a cadet's head. 

We had a simple forage cap, blue or gray, 
as we could procure it. 

He has broad cloth covered with shining 
buttons of brass, filagreed with lace and re- 
splendent with trimmings. 



14 

We had coarse sheep's gray jacket and pants, 
seven buttons, and a black tape stripe. 

He disports himself in white cross-belts, 
shining belt plates and patent leather accoutre- 
ments. 

We had a plain leather waist belt and cart- 
ridofe box, with harness buckle. 

He handles a breech-loading, bronzed bar- 
relled, cadet, Spingfield, rifle, of the latest 
pattern. 

We went into the battle of New Market 
with muzzle-loading Belgian rifles, as clumsy 
as pickaxes. 

Our uniforms, as the war progressed, almost 
ceased to be a uniform, for as the difficulty and 
expense of procuring cloth increased, we were 
permitted to wear such goods as we received 
from home, and in time we appeared in every 
shade from Melton gray to Georgia butternut. 

One was not always fortunate in owning a 
good suit, for wearing apparel was almost com- 



15 

mon property. I remember a particularly pretty 
suit, my father sent me. Fred. Hipkins of 
Norfolk, now a preacher, was about my size 
and courting, when it arrived. He wore it so 
long and so much, it had lost its freshness be- 
fore I had a chance to put it on, and when I did, 
his sweetheart saw me, and twitted me for 
wearing borrowed clothes. 

Cadet fare in those days was very simple. 
It consisted of plain beef or bacon, and gener- 
ally one vegetable for dinner. Bread and 
" growley " or molasses for breakfast. The 
coffee and tea supplied was unusually good, the 
Superintendent having procured a supply which 
lasted nearly throughout the w^ar. '' Old Spex " 
proved himself a master Commissary and Quar- 
ter-master, throughout the entire war. But 
variety and profusion was out of the question, 
and many were the evenings when, after hard 
drilling, our meal consisted of bread, molasses, 
water and a supply of milk for six, not suffici- 



i6 

ent to fill one glass, and therefore gambled for 
by the mess and drunk by the winner, while 
the losers partook of nature's beverage. 

What we did get was good and healthy, save 
one ever to be remembered lot of Nassau ba- 
con on which we stuck for weeks, saturated 
apparently with tar, upon its blockade-running 
voyage, and an inexhaustible suppl}^ of pickled 
beef so old and tough, that it glittered with 
prismatic splendor in the light. '' Growley," 
a mystery besides which boarding-house hash 
is simple as the rule of three, like the famous 
dish of Dotheboy's Hall, was always very 
satisfying. 

But we were 3'oung and strong; we were 
always hard-worked, and hungry. 

We could see that our old commander, true 
to the idol of his life, did his very best to ob- 
tain for us the very best. And a happier, 
healthier band never paraded, than assembled 
at the drum tap of the Institute. 



The course of studies was faithfully pursued. 
The full professors were nearly all too old for 
active service. Gen. Smith, Col. Gilham, Col. 
Williamson, Col. Preston, after valuable services 
in organizing forces at the outbreak of the war, 
had returned. Crutchfield returned once wound- 
ed and then went back to die. 

Stonewall Jackson, if I remember rightly, 
never saw his old class-room again, or entered 
it, until borne on the shoulders of eight weep- 
ing boys, his pale face looked up from the casket, 
on the spot where he had taught, and a voiceless 
volume came forth from his still lips to 
his sobbing pupils, filling that room with its 
eloquent silence, making soldiers and heroes 
at a single lesson. 

The Assistant Professors were most excel- 
lent. The Institute was an asylum for many a 
wounded ex-cadet, banished from his home by 
invasion, and her doors swung wide apart to 
receive them. 



i8 

To-day we would sit under the teaching of 
the gallant Cutshaw who, shot all to pieces in 
the front, had come back to die, but concluded 
to live and teach Mathematics until he could 
wear his wooden leg back to his battery. To- 
morrow gifted Preston, with his empty sleeve, 
shows us that none of his Latin was left with 
his lost arm. 

Another time " Tige'' Hardin, pale and bro- 
ken, turns up to teach until he can fight again, 
Marshall McDonald hobbles in to point with 
his crutch at the problems on the black-board, 
until he can once more point with his sword to- 
wards '' the looming bastion fringed with fire " 

Did we learn from these men ? 

Aye ! That did we. They taught with a zest 
and freshness such as we seldom see. They 
had our hearts to back them ; their very ap- 
pearance taught us lessons, every hour, that 
have been dropped from the curriculum in these 
tame days ol peace. 



19 

From daylight until dark we found em- 
ployment. Reveille, Squad drill, Breakfast, 
Guard mounting, Study hours, Dinner, Artil- 
lery drill. Battalion drill. Dress parade. Supper, 
Study hours, Tattoo, Taps. This was the 
daily routine; thirty minutes after each meal 
was the only leisure of the day. Up at 5 A. 
M., and in bed at 10 P. M., left little time for 
play on any day but Saturday. 

The effect of this hard discipline and exer- 
cise, regularity of life and simplicity of fare, 
upon the physique I need not describe. Such 
health, such spirits, such manly strength, I 
never saw, and I never expect to see again. 

A stranger admixture of Aristocracy and 
Democracy, than was to found there, the 
world never saw; verily, no man brought any- 
thing in to that world. Naked he came, no 
adventitious circumstance of birth or fortune, 
whether favorable or unfavorable, counted for 
or against him with his fellow cadets. 



20 



The first old cadet who met him had the 
right to "buck" him, and did buck him, 
whether he was the son of Jefferson Davis or 
of private Jones. Until he had heard the band . 
play " Auld Lang Syne, " an event which only 
occurred upon July 4th, he was the inferior of 
every man who had enjoyed that honor, and 
liable to be bucked for expressing an opinion 
upon any subject, in the presence of an old 
cadet. He was bound to rise and stand un- 
covered whenever an old cadet entered his 
room. He was bound to fag for his room- 
mates when so required, and, generally so long 
as he remained a " rat '' his position was that of 
subordinate. First-classmen being officers were 
too dignified to take part in torturing plebes. 
They moved in an elevated plane so high 
above the lower grades, that recognition by 
them beyond a military salute, was regarded 
as a condescension and a compliment. 

For myself I fear I never quite took in the 



21 



majesty of a first-classman, and many were the 
buckings and the twistings by proxy I received 
for impudence or forgetfulness of their prerog- 
atives. 

But every man had certain reserved rights, 
be he plebe or old cadet. The Unwritten Code 
vv^as as well known among us as the Mason 
knows his manual; whoever violated it, from 
the first Captain to the latest plebe, from the 
most aristocratic to the humblest, stood on a 
plane common to all, and was judged upon the 
merits of the case. Every boy there had it in 
his power to be the first man in the Corps or 
sink into insignificance and contempt. 

Whoever was wronged had the right to de- 
mand and receive satisfaction, and the man 
who wronged him was bound to give him sat- 
isfaction. Whosoever refused to demand or to 
give satisfaction lost caste immediately 

We had no silly code duels. We had the 
time-honored fist and skull. Tell me of ten 



paces and pistols; they are cold blooded, bar- 
barous and unsatisfactory. We were boys. 
We wanted to kill nobody. We wanted no- 
body to kill us. What we wanted was to 
punch heads and noses and eyes, to wrestle, to 
spar, to fall down, to knock down, to work off 
the bad passions in good old-fashioned, ex- 
hausting, satisfying, rough roll and tumble. 

There is more real satisfaction in one pro- 
tracted fight of this sort than in all the duels 
ever fought ; and it takes more bull-dog pluck 
to stand one sound drubbing with a pair of 
hard knuckles without crying " nuff, " than 
was ever required in all the duels ever fought 
in Ireland. 

Under our code every man was bound to 
fight ; if the offender was too large or too small 
to make the contest equal, he was a poor fel- 
low if in that generous community he had no 
friend of suitable size to fight for him. That 
alone would have disg^raced him. 



23 

Alas! How my conscience pricks me now, 
as I recall the terrible beating the now Rever- 
end Otis Glazebrook, as my proxy, received in 
just such a scrimmage. 

But Reverend friend, wherever you may be, 
bear me witness, that before he whipped you, 
the same burly rat had almost knocked out the 
oaken panels of the gun-room door with my 
head ; and that when afterwards he matched 
me, I paid the debt of both of us, with interest, 
upon the carcass of a fellow who never harmed 
a hair upon the head of either of us. 

This thorough understanding of perfect Dem- 
ocratic equality made every boy self reliant, con- 
scious of his responsibility and his opportunity, 
and careful of his own rights and the rights of 
others. It destroyed all caste feeling. And the 
generous systems of vicarious atonement inter- 
laced friendships and alliances that became life- 
long. Fighting it out banished revenge and mal- 
ice, and, with few exceptions, that corps was 



24 

more like a band ot brothers than a collection ot 
utter strangers, differing, it may be, upon mi- 
nor things, but all swelling with the pride an^i 
consciousness of a common interest. 

The " esprit du corps " was simply superb. 
When the command marched forth for any 
purpose it moved as one man ; the drill was 
perfect, obedience instant and implicit. 

As the war wore on, the stirring events, 
following each other so rapidly and so near at 
hand, bred a spirit of restlessness and discon- 
tent in every high-strung boy amongst us. 

After each battle, groups of cadets would 
assemble at the sally port or on the parade, 
eagerly discussing every incident. The mails 
would be crowded with letters to parents and 
guardians, begging permission to depart for 
the war. Good boys became bad boys to se- 
cure dismissal, and regular hegira would occur. 

Then would come old cadets from the wars, 
sick and wounded, full of strange fascination 



25 

for the worshiping boys crowding about them 
to drink in the last syllable of the enchanting 
story. 

Many a night have I paced the sentry beat 
thinking, hoping, wondering. Thinking now 
of the last gay party that had scrambled to the 
top of the departing stage, commissioned lor 
active service. Now, envying the careless 
gayety of veterans assembled in the officer's 
quarters, as, from time to time, loud laughter 
burst through the window of some tower room, 
hoping, as it seemed, against hope, for the day 
when, like these, I might be a soldier indeed. 

Sharpsburg, Fredericksburg, Chancellors- 
ville, Gettysburg, Vicksburg, Chickamauga, 
Missionary Ridge, and a hundred lesser battles 
were taking place around us. 

The combat deepens. To-day we buryjpoor 
Paxton; to-morrow brave Davidson is borne 
home to us upon his shield. And now, Oh ! 



36 

wretched fate, once more the funeral bells are 
tolling. 

Open wide the vaults of Athol, 
' Where the bones of heroes rest; 

Open wide the hallowed portals 

To receive another guest. 
* * * * 

Oh ! Thou lion-hearted warrior, 

Reck not of the after-time; 
Honor may be deemed dishonor, 

Loyalty be called a crime. 
Sleep in peace with kindred ashes 

Of the noble and the true; 
Hands that never failed their country; 

Hearts that never baseness knew. 
Sleep ! And till the latest trumpet 

Wakes the dead, from earth and sea, 
Virginia shall not boast a braver 
Chieftain, than she lost in thee. 

Stonewall Jackson, in the zenith of his fame 
and usefulness, was struck down at Chancel- 
lorsville. His coffin, loaded down with the 
flowers of that beautiful spring, bedewed with 
the tears of a nation, was brought back by 
his comrades to the spot that he loved best 
upon earth. 



27 

Who shall tell with what yearnings our eyes 
followed those brave officers, as they hurried 
back to battle from his new-made grave. 

They left us there, as if we had been babes. 

The fight went bravely on. Stuart and 
Hampton, Morgan and Wheeler, Deering and 
Rosser, were riding gloriously in the cavalry. 

Willie Pegram and Tom Carter, Breathed 
and Cutshaw, Lindsay, Walker and McLaugh- 
lin, were waking the echoes with their artil- 
lery. 

A, P. Hill and Rhodes, Mahone and Gordon, 
Patton and Lane, of the infantry, w^ere almost 
daily plucking stars. 

Like the chafed spirit of Marmion, at Tan- 
tallon, the hearts of the cadets were beating 
furiously against the bars of their confinement. 

The fierce struggle grew more intense ; the 
power of the North had at last been fully 
aroused, her teeming millions were pouring 
down upon the South, to crush it. Looking 



back at the immense disparity between the sec- 
tions in numbers and resources, the wonder is 
that the Confederacy withstood so long the im- 
mense superiority of the Federal power. The 
truth is that each section at the outset under- 
rated the other. The South was over-confi- 
dent in its wealth, the North in its numbers It 
is true also that for the first two years while, 
as was. natural with men whose country was 
invaded, our best and bravest had gone forth to 
resist invasion. The North, on the other hand, 
conducting an offensive war, her troops were to 
a great extent mercenaries, and her best ele- 
ments only represented by her officers. 

Gettysburgh is often referred to as the turn- 
ing point in the struggle. Nothing could be 
more true than that idea. 

It was not only the turning point, in that it 
baffled and defeated and disheartened Lee's 
army, theretofore almost invincible, but in that 
it, for the first time, by invasion, aroused the 



29 

North to the dangers, the horrors, the possibil- 
ities of invasion, and the necessity of efforts, 
more stupendous than any theretofore put forth 
to crush the South, and prevent a recurrence 
of our Pennsylvania campaign. Following that 
narrow escape, came an uprising of the North 
which, in enthusiasm and in unity, threw all 
precedent efforts in the shade. 

To such an extent were her armies re- 
cruited, that the Federal commanders were 
enabled, from their surplus troops, to inaug- 
urate a system of raids and incursions by 
bodies operating independently from the grand 
armies. And, while our brave men were locked 
and grappled with the overwhelming forces of 
Grant and Sherman, the raiding parties of 
Stoneman, of Wilson, of Kautz, of Averill, of 
Hunter, of Burbridge and of Sheridan rode 
rampant in their rear w^ith torch and sword, 
almost unopposed. 

This policy was inaugurated late in the sum- 



30 

mer of 1863. Averill appearing in the neigh- 
borhood of Covington, gave the cadet corps 
then in camp a long and fruitless march to 
meet him. This little taste of actual service 
had kindled in the breasts of the cadets hopes, 
and suggested possibilities, that w^ere not doom- 
ed to disappointment. 

The lateness of the season, and the reorgan- 
izations following Gettysburg, delayed the ex- 
ecution of this raiding policy to any great ex- 
tent in 1863; but that year closed gloomily 
enough upon the old, the thoughtful, and the 
wise, of the Confederacy. The soldier no longer 
returned from the front exuberant with tales of 
camp life and of victory. He came back worn 
and ragged, and, if not actually dispirited, at 
least sobered and reflective. The once dreaded 
period of winter encampment was not half so 
irksome as formerly. If it brought cold and 
idleness, it also brought surcease of marching 
and fighting. If it brought ice and snow and rain, 



31 

it also stopped fire and bloodshed and tears. 
The joyous prospect of spring was not half 
so tempting when with thoughts of the blue- 
bell and the blackbird were mingled the fears 
of bloody battle. 

But in one spot of the Confederacy, at least, 
the martial spirit still burned high and the hope 
of battle flamed fresh as on the morningf of 
Manassas. 

One little nest of fledglings yet remained, 
who, all untried in the fiery furnace, too young 
to reason, too buoyant to doubt, were longing 
for renew^ed hostilities, and still cried '' Havoc — 
and let slip the dogs of war." Thus opened 
the spring of 1864. W 

It is the loth of May, that day of all the 
year which we, of the Blues, delight in as our 
Anniversary. 

The cadet corps is in the very pink of drill 
and discipline, and musters 300 strong. 

The plebes of last fall have passed through 



32 

the whole course of squad and company drill, 
and the battalion is now proficient in the most 
intricate mancevre. 

The broad parade ground lies spread out 
like a green carpet. The far off ranges of the 
Blue Ridge draw nearer in the clear light of 
spring. 

The old guard tree, once more luxuriantly 
green, shelters its watching groups of blushing 
girls and prattling children. 

The battalion wheels', charges and counter- 
marches in mimicry of war, until at last, as the 
sinking sun bathes the whole scene in mellow 
splendor, we are formed in line for dress 
parade. The band plays up and down the 
line. The last rays of sunset fade upon the 
peaks of the House Mountain. The evening 
gun booms forth upon the air. The colors drop 
lazily from their peak. 

A solemn tranquil stillness rests upon the 
scene. Never in all her history seemed 



33 

Lexington and her surroundings more gently 
beautiful, more calmly peaceful. 

It is midnight. Save in the guard-room, at 
the sally-port, every light has disappeared. 
The cadets are sleeping. 

Ha! What's that? Am I awake? 

The barracks reverberate with the throbbing 
drums, and the rattling echoes are thrown 
back and forth from the walls of the Arsenal. 
It is the long roll! 

Lights are up. The stoops resound once 
more to the rush of many footsteps hurrying to 
their places in ranks. The companies are 
formed. The Adjutant, by the light of a lantern, 
reads the orders to the command amid breath- 
less silence. 

The enemy is in the valley. Breckenridge 
needs help. We are to march at break of day 
to Staunton, with three days rations and a sec- 
tion of artillery. 



34 

Not a sound is uttered. Not a man moves 
from the military posture of parade rest. 

But oh! the beating hearts. Oh! the kind- 
ling eyes. Oh! the wild rush of pride and 
hope and joy that overwhelmed us as we felt 
that our hour had come at last. 

'* Parade's dismissed " pipes the Adjutant. 

Methinks I see once more the hurrying foot- 
steps of the officers as they move to the front and 
center and discuss the news. Methinks I hear 
again the game-cock voices of the orderlies 
marching their men to quarters. My heart is 
once more throbbing with the wild hallo that 
rent the air, as company after company broke 
ranks. Again I see in fancy the excited rush 
of that gay throng, forgetful that it was yet six 
hours ere we marched, hurrying back and forth 
preparing for the start, eager as greyhounds on 
the leash. 

Day-break found us on the Staunton pike, 
after a sleepless night and breakfast by candle 



35 

light. We had jeered the little boys who 
were left behind. We had guyed our good 
old wash women as we passed their homes. 
We had tramped heavily upon the bridge that 
spans the river, until it rocked and swayed 
beneath our trod. We had cheered the fading- 
turrets of the Institute, and now fairly launched 
upon our journey, were plodding on right mer- 
rily, our gallant little battery rumbling behind. 

At mid-day upon the 12th, we marched into 
Staunton, not quite as fresh as when we started, 
but game and saucy, to the tune of" The girl I 
left behind me." 

Not many of those fair damsels, I ween, oc- 
cupied our truant thoughts just then. Of all 
places on earth Staunton seemed to have the 
most girls, and we were too busy scanning 
their fair forms and faces to think much of the 
girls we left behind us. 

Your modern cadet in Staunton, contemplat- 
ing a visit to the fair sex, doubtless repairs to 



36 

the hotel and there makes an elaborate toilet. 
Your humble servant and a friend that way in- 
clined, that day prepared for the pleasure much 
more simply. 

Being muddy to the knees, we waded in a 
creek until our shoes and pants were washed, 
and then, picking our way daintily upon rocks 
until we reached the pavements, paused in a 
fence corner to adjust our locks by the aid of a 
pocket comb and glass, and hurried forward to 
society with perfect confidence of conquest. 

Were the cadets favorites with the fair 
Stauntonians, did I hear you say? 

Pardon me. I blush. I see the rugged, 
whiskered veterans we met at Staunton now, 
frowning vexedly at the coolness of cadet con- 
fidence. Once more I catch their muttered 
contempt for boys. Once more the taunting 
chorus " Rock-a-bye baby," sung by a veteran 
regiment as we pass, fills my soul with wrath. 

But there is little time now for gaiety. The 



37 

town is filled with Breckenridge's army, hur- 
ried up from the southwest to meet the invader. 
Now and then a bespattered trooper comes 
wearily up from Harrisonburg or \\'oodstock 
with despatches, and tells us that Seigel, w^ith 
an army thrice our size is pressing forward, 
confronted only by a thin ine of Imboden's 
skirmishers. 

Ever and anon the serious shake their heads 
and predict hot work in store for us. Even in 
the hour of levity the shadow of impending 
bloodshed hangs over all but the cadet. The 
new world that has burst upon him; the 
strange, bustling, outside world, so in contrast 
with the quaint secluded precincts of Lexing- 
ton; the bright hopes of the morrow; the joyful 
thought of real soldier-life, banish fear and 
doubt. He drinks of this bright sparkling 
stream like the weary traveler at the desert 
spring. 



38 

At evening parade the following orders were 
published to the troops: 

Headquarters Valley Dep't, 

General Orders . Staunton Va. 

No. I \ May \2th, 1864. 

1 The command will move to-morrow 
morning promptly at six o'clock, on turnpike 
leading to Harrisonburg. 

The following order of march will be ob" 
served: 

Wharton's Brigade. 

Echol's Brigade. 

Cadet Corps. 

Reserve Forces. 

Ambulance and Medical W agons. 

Artillery. 

Trains. 

2 The Artillery will for the present be united 



39 

and form a battalion under command of Major 
McLaughlin, &c., &c., &c. 

By Command of Maj. Gen. Breckenridge. 
J. Stodard Johnston, 

A. A G. 

Morning found us promptly on the march, 
A few lame ducks had already succumbed and 
been left behind, but the great body of the 
corps stepped proudly and firmly forward, al- 
thougfh clouds and rain had overtaken us. 

Our first day's march brought us to Harris- 
onburg. Our second, to Lacy's Springs, with- 
in ten miles of New Market. As the second 
day advanced the evidences of the approaching 
enemy thickened at every step. At short inter- 
vals along the valley pike, the great highway 
of the valley, carriages and carts and wagons 
blocked the way, laden with household goods 
and people fleeing from the hostile advance. 
Now and then we passed a haggard trooper of 



40 

Imboden, who,- dispirited by long skirmishing 
against overwhelming force, gave gloomy 
enough reports of the power and the numbers 
of the enemy. 

Towards evening, in a little grove by a 
church, we came upon a batch of Federal 
prisoners, the first that many of us had ever 
seen. An odd lot of forbidding-looking Ger- 
mans, who eyed us with stolid curiosity as we 
passed. 

Laughter and jesting had somewhat sub- 
sided, my friends, when we went into camp 
that night, and saw our picket fires twinkling 
in the gloaming on the hill-sides, but a few 
miles down the valley. 

It seemed as if the dreams of our lives were 
soon to be realized when we learned beyond 
doubt that Franz Seigel and his German hosts 
were sleeping within ten m.iles of the spot 
whereon we lay. 

The sun burst up for a moment upon our little 



41 

camp e'er he sunk in the west that evening, but 
with the o:atherino' darkness came the rain again 
in fitful showers. 

But rain and sunshine make little difference 
to the soldier. For a little while the woodland 
resounded with the axe-stroke, or the cheery 
halloo of the men from camp-fire to camp-fire. 
For a little while the fire lights danced and the 
smoke of cooking food filled the air with savory 
odors. For a little while the men gathered 
around the cheering warmth to dry themselves 
and talk. But soon silence and stillness reigned 
supreme, broken only now and then by the fall 
of another shower, or the champing of the 
colonel's horse upon his corn. 

I was corporal of the guard. A single sen- 
tinel paced about the camp, while the guard 
and the drummers stretched themselves by the 
guard-fire in deep, refreshing sleep. 

It was an hour past midnight when I caught 
the sound of horse's hoofs upon the pike, advanc- 



42 

ing at a trot. As they drew nearer they ceased, 
and a moment later the sentry call took me to 
the spot. I found an officer bearing orders from 
the commandinor o;enera . 

We aroused Colonel Ship, who, rubbing his 
eyes and reading by the firelight, muttered as 
he read, " Move forward at once," and ordered 
me to rouse the camp. 

Never will I forget the impression made 
upon me by that long roll as it broke the solemn 
stillness and aroused the sleepers. The rain 
had wet the drum-heads, and the sound came 
forth muffled and suppressed, as when we 
buried Jackson. 

Once ao^ain life and bustle fills the camp; 
once again the roll-calls are rattled off; once 
again the short, crisp commands go forth and 
the assembled battalion debouches upon the 
pike, heading, in the darkness and the mud, for 
New Market. 

But something more impressive than the 



43 

muffled drum-beat marked that hour. Some- 
thing that waked the most thoughtless of our 
band to the solemnity, the gravity, the danger 
of our situation. Something that, even now, 
may be a balm and solace to those whose boys 
died so gloriously that day. In the gloom of 
that night, beneath the canopy of the clouds, 
with no stranger to mar or to mock its earnest- 
ness. Captain Frank Preston, neither afraid nor 
ashamed to pray, sent up a prayer for God's 
protection to our little band. 

It was not a long prayer, nor an elaborate 
prayer, but an humble, earnest appeal from a 
Christian, a gentleman, a soldier, that sunk into 
the heart of every man who heard it, and I 
doubt if it will ever be forgotten even by the 
scoffer or the infidel. Few were the dry eyes, 
little the frivolity in that command, when he 
had ceased to speak of home, of father^ of 
mother, of country, of victory and defeat, of life, 
of death, of eternity. 



44 

Those who heard him a few hours later 
commanding " B " company in the thickest of 
the fight, his already empty sleeve showing 
that he was no stranger to the perilous edge of 
battle, realized how the same voice can plead 
most tenderly and reverently and yet pipe high- 
er than the blast of war, realized the beauty 
and the truth of that splendid sentiment: 

" The bravest are the tenderest, 
The loving are the daring." 

Day broke upon us plodding onward through 
the mud. 

The decidedly sober cast of our reflections 
was relieved by the light-heartedness of the 
veterans when we overtook them. Wharton's 
Brigade, with " Old Gabe " smiling at their 
head, cheered us as we came up to the spot 
where they were cooking breakfast by the road- 
side. Many were the good-natured jibes v/ith 
which they restored our confidence. The old 
soldiers, full of the spirit of Lucretia Borgia's 



45 
drinking song, were as merry, and indifferent 
to the coming tight, as if it was a daily occupa- 
tion. They asked us if we did not think it very 
funny? They seemed delighted to think what 
beautiful corpses we would make. They in- 
quired of us affectionately whether we wanted 
rosewood coffins, satin lined, with name and 
age on the plate? In a word they made us 
ashamed of the solemnity of our last six miles 
of marching, and renewed and infused the true 
dare-devil spirit of soldiery within our breasts. 
Onward, once more, presses the column. 
The mile-posts on the pike score four, three, 
two and one mile to New Market. 

Now the mounted skirmishers crowd past us, 
hurrying to their position at the head of the 
column. Now the cheering begins in our rear, 
and is caught up by the troops along the line of 
march. Now Breckenridge and his staff are 
coming, and we take up the cry, as that splen- 



46 

did man, mounted magnificently, sweeps past 
us, uncovered, bowing and riding like the Cid. 

Along the crest of yonder hill, running trans- 
versely to the pike, behold our mounted pickets 
and the smouldering fires of the last night's 
bivouac. 

We are halted! One turn in the road will 
bring us in sight of the enemy's position. 

Echols and Wharton w^ith their brigades 
move past us. There is not so much of banter 
anywhere as v^e have heard. 

Forward is the w^ord once more, and New 
Market is in sight. 

The turn in the road which brought the 
village in sight also displayed the valley for 
several miles. 

Let me pause a moment to describe it. 

At this point a bold range of hills running 
parallel wath the mountains divides the great 
valley into two smaller valleys, and in the east- 
ernmost of these lies New Market. 



•47 

Through its center runs the valley turnpike, 
parallel with the Massanutten range and Smith's 
creek coursing along its base upon our right, 
and the range of hills upon our left, which 
latter terminates at and slopes gently down to 
the town. 

On the right of the pike and running over to 
the creek a beautiful stretch of meadow land 
spreads out down to and beyond the town. 

Orchards skirt the village in these meadows, 
between our position and the town, and in these 
the enemy's skirmishers are posted. 

To our left the land rises gently from the 
pike until it reaches the wooded heights of the 
parallel ridge; but a little in our front the de- 
cline, from all directions, is toward the town. 

The enemy is posted to receive our left flank, 
just beyond a lane running westwardly from 
the village, at right angles to the pike. 

Behind his position the ground rises gradu- 
ally in several successive terraces, until, a 



48 

short distance below the town, to the left, 
it spreads out in an elevated plateau. The 
hill-sides between this plateau and the pike are 
broken by several gullies heavily wooded with 
scrub-cedars. 

It is Sunday morning, and eleven o'clock; 
the hour at which, in these days of peace, the 
clanging bell peals forth its summons to devo- 
tions. 

In a picturesque little church-yard, right un- 
der the shadow of the village spire, and among 
the white tombstones, a six-gun battery is post- 
ed in rear of the infantry line of the enemy, 
and the moment we debouched it opened upon 
us briskly. 

Oh! it is a grand sight. Just such a sight of 
battle as boys dream of — such as are 'shown in 
battle paintings. 

Away off to the right, in the gap in the 
Massanutten through which the Luray pike 
passes, our signal corps is telegraphing the po- 



49 

sition and numbers of the enemy. Our cavalry 
is moving in full gallop to the cover of the 
creek, to flank the tow^n. 

Geo. Patton, an Institute graduate, command- 
ing a brigade, is moving from the pike at double 
quick by the right flank, and goes into line of 
battle across the meadow, his left resting on the 
pike. Simultaneously with this movement, his 
skirmishers are thrown forward and engage the 
enemy. 

Out of the orchards rise puff after puff of 
blue smoke, and out upon the meadows, as our 
brave sharpshooters advance on the run, the 
pop-pop — pop-pop-pop of their rifles ring forth 
excitingly. 

Then comes McLaughlin, thundering down 
the pike with his artillery, and, wheeling out 
into the meadows, he swings grandly into bat- 
tery, action left, and lets fly with all his guns. 

The Cadet section, pressing a little further 
down the pike, wheels to the left, toils up the 



5° 

slope, and replies with a plunging fire to the bat- 
tery in the grave -yard. 

In my mind's eye, after eighteen years have 
stretched between that moment and this, I see 
as distinctly now^ as then, the beautiful round 
wreath of smoke that shot upward and hovered 
over the cadet battery at its first discharge. 

The little town, which a moment before had 
seemed to sleep so peacefully, so beautifully 
upon that Sabbath morn, was now ivreathed in 
battle smoke, and swarming nvith t7'oops 
hu7rying to their positions. 

Every shell we threw struck some obstruc- 
tion, and exploded in the streets. 

Every man in our army was in sight; every 
position of the enemy was plainly visible. His 
numbers, unfortunately, were but too well 
known to us, for the reports still came that the 
pike was filled with his infantry. 

Our left wing, under Wharton, consisted of 
the Cadets; the 62d Virginia Infantry, Col. 



51 

Smith; the 30th Virginia Battalion, Col. Clark; 
the 51st Virginia Infantry, Col. Fostburg, and 
Edgar's Battalion. Our right, under Patton, 
Tvas composed of the 2 2d Virginia Infantry and 
Derrick's Battalion. 

I was still corporal of the guard, accompany- 
ing the baggage-wagon with a detail of three 
men — Redwood, Stanard, and Woodlief We 
had not been relieved. 

Our orders were to remain with the wagon 
at the bend in the pike, unless our forces were 
driven back, in which case we were to retire 
to^a point of safety. 

When it became evident that we were about 
to go into action, a single thought took pos- 
session of me, and that was, that I would never 
be able to look my father in the face again, 
if I sat on a baggage-wagon while my com- 
mand was in battle. 

Napoleon in Eg3^pt pointed to the Pyra- 
mids, and told his soldiers that from their 



52 

heights forty centuries looked down upon 
them. 

My oration, delivered from the baggage- 
wagon, was not so elevated in tone,' but equally 
emphatic, and about after this fashion: 

"Gentlemen, the enemy is in our front; we 
are about to engage him. 1 like fighting no 
better than anybody else, but I have an enemy 
in my rear as dreadful as any before us. In 
the front we may or may not be hurt, but if I 
go home and tell my father that I never went 
into this action, there is no doubt as to my 
fate. I know he will kill me^ with worse than 
bullets — ridicule. I shall go at once. Any 
one who chooses to remain may do so." 

All the guard followed me, and the wagon 
was left in the sole custody of a black driver. 
Of the four who thus went, one was killed 
and two wounded. 

We rejoined the battalion just as it filed out 
of the pike. 



53 
Moved at a double-quick by the left flank, 
we were in an instant in line of battle, our 
right near the pike. 

A swell in the ground in our front concealed 
us from the enemy. 

The command was given to strip for action. 
Down went knapsacks, blankets, everything 
but guns and cartridge-boxes. 

The shells scream hideously, as tipping the 
hill crests in our front they bound over our 
heads, beyond us. 

Our boys are silent now— every lip is tightly 
drawn, every cheek is pale, but not with fear, 
as we pull our cartridge-boxes to the front and 
tighten belts. 

We glance across the pike, and see that Pat- 
ton's Brigade is lying down. ^'Battalion for- 
ward! Guide center!" shouts out Ship, and oft 
we start. 

From the left of the line springs Woodbridge, 
Sergeant-Major, and actually posts himself forty 



54 

paces in front of the colors to give direction to* 
the guide. Brave Evans, standing over six feet 
two, unfurls the banner that for days has hung^ 
limp and bedraggled about its staff, and every 
cadet in the institute leaps forward, dressing ta 
the streaming ensign, elate and thrilling with 
the consciousness that — this is War! 

Now we reach the hill crest in our front. 
We are abreast our smoking battery and in full 
sight and range of the enemy, pressing forward 
at " arms — port." 

He has gotten the range, and is planting his 
shell right under our noses along the slope. 

Patton's men rise up and are charging on our 
right with the world-wide rebel yell. 

I verily believe Woodbridge would have held 
his position as directing sergeant until riddled 
with a hundred balls, had he not been ordered 
to fall back into line. 

Down the slope we are pressing, answering 



55 

the wild cry of our comrades as their musketry 
rattles out its opening volleys. 

A moment more will bring the pelting rain 
of small arms about our ears from the blue line 
beyond the lane before us. 

But, oh Lord! Thunder, lightning, fire, 
earth-rocks. The sky w^hirls round. I stumble. 
My gun pitches forward. I'm on my knees. 
Sergeant Cabell looks at me sternly, pityingly, 
and passes on. I know no more. ^ * * ^ 

It is raining in torrents. The ground about 
me is torn and ploughed up in several places. 

Shells are still screeching and skipping about 
and above us. 

Poor little Captain Hill of " C " company. 
There he lies, bathed in blood, with a fearful 
gash over his temple, gasping like a dying fish. 
Read, Merritt, and another are badly shot. 

Can that be the battalion three hundred yards 
away, firing like madmen? 

Ah, ha! It is, indeed. They are across the 



56 

lane the enemy occupied, and have driven the 
battery out of the graveyard to the heights 
beyond. How did they get there? What am 
I doing here? I am bleeding! 

My head is ploughed with a deep and ugly 
gash. That villainous shell which exploded 
in our faces brought five of us to the ground. 

Hurrah! Youth's dream is realized at last. 
I've got a wound and am not dead yet ! I am 
up on my feet once more and bound for the 
hospital, almost whistling at the thought ot 
what famous news the next mail w^ill bear to 
the old folks at home. 

Now, my friends, I intended to return to 
ranks, but I did not. No matter why. The 
head hurt a orood deal more than I thouo^ht it 
would. I mention this because I intend to brag 
about what the Cadet corps did at New Market; 
and before I begin, I want you to know that I 
am not bragging about myself. 

The fighting around the town was fierce and 



57 

bloody on our left wing. Patton's movements 
on the right were rapid and effective. He had 
pressed the enemy back into the village, and 
our line had taken the shape of an obtuse angle 
with its apex just below New Market on the 
pike. The right wing had done more than 
ours to cause the battery to change position, to 
the slope above to the left, and just beyond the 
town. 

The Federal infantry had only fallen back to 
its second line. Our troops had now to ascend 
a slope. New forces of the enemy were await- 
ing them. 

Pausing, under the cover of the deep lane, 
to catch breath and correct the alignment, our 
troops once more started forward, clambered 
up the bank and over the stone fence, deliver- 
ing at once and receiving a withering fire. 

Just below the town the pike again curves, 
and behind this curve the reserve of the enemy 
is massed — in what numbers we cannot yet 



58 

see. Our right wing is pressing through the 
village, and, in confusion, into the pike. The 
enemy sees it, and is massing cavalry at the 
bend for a charge. 

McLaughlin has moved up his guns, unlim- 
bered in the streets, double-shotted w^ith canis- 
ter, and runs them down by hand among the 
infantry. 

Look out! Here comes the cavalry squadron 
front, in full career. Out of the way, infantry! 
And over the fence they scramble. 

Heavens! Was n't that a blizzard from Mc- 
Laughlin? They reel, they stagger, they fly; 
the road is filled with tumbled horses and men. 
Several riderless steeds gallop towards us, 
neigh, circle, and rejoin their comrades, and 
that is the end of the cavalry in this fight. 

Where is the left flank now? 

Up the slope, right up to the second line ot 
infantry, have they gone, and for the second 
time the Federal infantr}^ is broken. The vet- 



59 

eran troops have captured two pieces of cannon 
and the battery has galloped back to a new po- 
sition in a farm-yard on the plateau at the head 
of the cedar-skirted gully. 

Our boys have taken over a hundred prison- 
ers. Here comes Charley Faulkner and an- 
other, in charge of twenty-three, as proud of 
their charge as peacocks, and swearing they 
captured every man of them. 

Hot work has been put in, as the enemy has 
broken. The space between their new line and 
the present position of our men is dotted with 
their dead and wounded, shot as they fled 
across the open field. But the same exposed 
situation now lies before our men. 

They must cross it, subjected to a galling 
fire from the enemy, who is now strongly 
posted and well protected. 

The distance is not over three hundred yards, 
across a level, green wheat-field. 

Again the troops are ordered to advance. Our 



6o 

brave fellows have already been put upon their 
mettle. Exhausted, wet to the skin, and mud- 
died to their eyebrows with the stiff clay 
through which they have pulled, some of them 
actually shoeless after their struggle through 
the plowed ground They have not lost one 
particle of grit or eagerness, for the shouting 
on our right means victory. 

But the foes in our front were far from con- 
quered. 

As our men moved forward they stood their 
ground bravely. 

" Then each at once his falchion drew ; 
Each on the ground his scabbard threw ; 
Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain 
As what they ne'er might see again. 
Then foot and point, and eye opposed, 
In dubious strife they darkly closed." 

As our men uncovered that frightful battery, 
double-shotted with grape and canister, opened 
upon the poor bo3^s with a murderous hail. At 
one discharge, poor Cabell, at whose elbow I 
had marched so long, fell dead, and Crockett 



6i 

and Jones by his side. A blanket would have 
covered the three. The musketry pours forth 
in a steady roll^ and McDowell, a mere child, 
drops, pierced through the heart. 

Atwell, Jefferson, Wheelwright roll in the 
dust. Shriver's sword-arm drops helpless, and 
"C" Company loses her cadet as well as her 
professor captain. The men are falling right 
and left. This is terrific! The fire comes like 
wind, hail, and rain in the faces of the men. 
The veteran troops on our right seem to stag- 
ger. Colonel Ship falls. Somebody cries out, 
" Lie down!" and down go the men, firing 
from the knee — all but Evans, the ensign, who 
is standing bolt upright, laughing wildly and 
defiantly. Still rain the canister! Poor Stan- 
ard's limbs are torn asunder, and he lies there 
bleeding to death. Some one cries, " Rally on 
Edgar's Battalion,'' and Pizzini, orderly of" B," 
with the glare of a tiger, swears he will shoot; 
the first man who leaves. 



62 

Preston, brave and inspiring, laughingly lies 
down upon his only arm, declaring that he will 
at least save that. Collona, captain of ''D," is 
speaking cheerily to the boys on the left, and 
telling them to shoot close. 

We are being decimated! 

It is madness to pause here! 

We must charge or fly. And charge it was: 
for at that moment, old Henry Wise, our first 
captain, beloved by every boy in the command, 
sprung to his feet, shouted a charge that thrilled 
like electricity, and led the Cadet Corps for- 
ward to the guns. 

Ah, my God! Ye mothers, ye fathers, ye 
sisters, ye sweethearts, whose boys were in that 
bloody fray, could ye but have looked upon 
them at that moment, what would ye not have 
felt? 

It was one to ten. The guns of the battery 
w^ere served like lightning; the musketry rat- 



63 

tied steadily; our bullets pattered against the 
frame farm-house. 

The stand of the enemy was vain 

Now, the Cadets have reached the firm green- 
sward of the farm-yard. The Federal infantry 
begin to break and run behind the buildings. 
The battery is ordered to limber up. It is too 
late! Our boys have shot down the horses. 
We are close upon them. The artillerymen 
fling away their sponges and fly. Lieutenant 
Hanna, of " D '' Company, hammers a big 
Dutchman over the head with his sabre, and 
Winder Garrett, of ''A," lunges his bayonet 
through and through another. Our boys are 
leaping on the guns. We have captured the 
battery, and Evans, who never yet knew what 
it was to doubt or fear, is waving wildly the 
colors of the V. M. I. in triumph from the top 
of a caisson. 

Still a straggling infantry fire is kept up from 
the gully, now on our right flank, although we 



64 

see the blue-coats breaking down the hill. The 
battalion pauses, re-forms, marks time, halt 
wheels to the right, plunges forward, firing as 
it advances, and never pauses more until it 
reaches the pike, the broken masses of the 
enemy flying towards Mount Jackson, hotly 
pressed by our infantry and cavalry. The ar- 
tillery, hurried on to Rude's Hill, throws shell 
into their confused ranks, until they at last gain 
safety beyond the burning bridge, across the 
river at Mount Jackson. 

We have won a victory — a complete victory. 
Not a Crecy or Agincourt; not a Blenheim or 
Malplacquet; not an Austerlitz or Waterloo; 
not a Solferino or Magenta; not a Manasses or 
Appomattox; but, for all that, a right comfort- 
ing bit of news goes up the pike to-night to 
General Lee, for from where he lies locked in 
the death grapple with Grant in the Wilderness, 
his thoughts turn ever wearily and anxiously 
towards this flank movement in the valley. 



65 

It was the first of the series of auxiliary 
movements to harrass our main army. Its 
overwhehiiing defeat gave infinite relief to our 
great commander — relief little appreciated then 
by the thoughtless multitude. 

The pursuit down the pike was more like a 
foot race than a march. Our boys straggled 
badly, for we realized that the fight was over, 
and many were too much exhausted to go 
further. 

Towards evening the clouds burst away, the 
vvmd came up, the sun came forth, and when 
night closed in, no sound of battle broke the 
Sabbath calm save a solitary Napoleon, still 
poundinnj awa}^ at the smouldering ruins of the 
bridge across the river at Mount Jackson. 

Our picket fires were built at Mount Airy. 
Our main body bivouacked upon the pike a 
mile below New Market. 

But many returned to inquire for the killed, 
wounded, and missing. 



66 

Of the 225 cadets who went into action, seven 
were already dead and forty-nine were wounded. 

A little while before sundown, having had 
my head sewed up and bandaged, and having 
done all I could about the hospital to help the 
wounded, I sallied forth upon an artillery horse 
to procure a blanket. We had left our plunder 
unguarded when we entered the fight. Nobody 
would consent to remain. The result was that 
the camp-followers had made away with nearly 
all our blankets and haversacks. 

I rode into the town. It was filled with sol- 
diers, laughing and carousing as light-heartedly 
as if it was a feast or holiday. A grreat throns: 
of Federal prisoners were coralled in a side 
street, under guard. They were nearly all 
Germans. Some were gay and careless, some 
gloom}' and dejected. A great, burly lager- 
bier Dutchman, with his head in a bandage, 
was regaling the crowd with the manner of his 
capture. I paused and listened: " Dem leetle 



67 

tevils, mit der white vlag, vas doo much fur us. 
Dey shoost smash mine head ven I vos cry 
' Zurrender ' all ter dime;" and a loud peal 
of laughter went up from the by-standers, among 
whom I recognized several cadets. 

The jeers and banter of the old soldiers had 
now ceased. We had become old soldiers too. 
We mingled with them fraternally, and dis- 
cussed the battle on terms of perfect equality. 
Every tongue was tuned to praise the conduct 
of the cadets. The veteran troops, to whom 
was due so much of the honor of the victory, 
seemed to seek no praise for themselves, but to 
delight in giving all priase to '' dem leetle tevils 
mit der white vlag." The ladies of the town 
overwhelmed us with tenderness and kind- 
ness, while we drank in greedily the praise 
flowing in from every direction. VVe were the 
lions of the day. 

Leaving the village, I rode up to the plateau, 
where most of our men were killed. Leading" 



68 

my horse across the wheat-field, I came upon 
the dead bodies of three cadets. One wore 
the chevrons of an orderly. He was lying 
upon his breast, stiff and stark, with . out- 
stretched arms; his hands had clutched and 
torn up great tufts of soil and grass. His teeth 
were locked tightly; his face hard as a flint, 
with staring eyes. It was hard, indeed, to 
recognize in this repulsive corpse all that re- 
mained of the man who, but a few hours be- 
fore, was first in his class as a scholar, second 
as a soldier, and the peer of any boy alive in 
every trait of physical or moral manhood. 

Wm. H. Cabell, of Richmond, ist sergeant of 
'' D" Company, was, independent of that praise 
which we are all so apt to freely bestow on the 
dead, in -truth and fact, a man, every inch ol 
him. With an excellent mind and. splendid 
physique,"^ he had as much character as a man 
of forty. He was not as popular as other men I 
have known; he was too serious to enjoy light 



69 

popularity. But he was feared, admired, and 
respected. His oft-tried courage, perfect sin- 
cerity, and strict justice, gave him a position such 
as I have never seen held by any one of his age. 
Take him for all in all, he was the best man in 
the corps, and worthy in everything of the hon- 
ored name he bore, to which his gallant death 
gave new honor. 

Crockett and Jones, Wheelwright and Jeffer- 
son, I did not know so well; they were new 
cadets and fourth-classmen, but had made 
warm friends amono^ their classmates. 

Atweli was a simple, amiable, pious boy, be- 
loved and respected by all who knew him. 

A little removed from the spot where Cabell 
fell, and nearer to the enemy's position, lay 
McDowell. 

Ah! that sight would have wrung your 
hearts. That little boy was lying there asleep, 
more fit, indeed, for the cradle than the grave. 
He was scarcely sixteen years of age and hardly 



7° 

o-rown. He was from North Carolina I be- 
lieve. He had torn open his jacket and shirt, 
and even in death lay clutching them back, ex- 
posing a fair breast, tender as 'a nurslings, in 
which the red wound gaped and from which 
a crimson current had coursed down. It 
seemed a message to the dear ones far away, 
that although his country had drunk his life's 
blood almost from the cradle, he had poured 
it from the breast and the heart, as gallantly 
as the fiercest whiskered hero that ever died 
in battle front. 

I came too late. Stanard had died but a 
few minutes before I reached the farm house, 
whither they had borne him. He was still 
warm, and his expiring words were messages 
of love. 

Poor Jack! Play-mate, room-mate, friend — 
farewell. 

Standing there my mind traveled back to the 
old scenes at Lexington, when we were hunt- 



71 

ing together in the " grassy hills;" to our games 
and sports; to our last night at the guard fire, 
when he told mc he expected to be killed; to 
that day one week ago when he knelt at the 
altar at Lexington and was confirmed. 

The warm tears of fi-iendship came welling 
up from a heart that had learned to love him as 
a brother. A truer-hearted, braver, better fellow 
never died than Jacquelin B. Stanard, of Orange. 

We brought up the limber-chest, placed our 
dead upon it, and bore them reverentl}^ to a 
deserted store-house in the town, and the next 
day we buried them with the honors of war, 
bowed down with the grief of victory at such 
a price. 

But how quickh' shift the scenes of war. We 
started back, crest-fallen and dejected; our 
victory was almost forgotten in our distress at 
the death of our friends and comrades, the ruin, 
suffering, and death around us, and the poor 
boys that lay stark in the Cemetery at New 



72 

Market. The poor fellows who were still toss- 
ing on beds of fever and pain, were almost for- 
gotten by the selfish comrades whose fame had 
been bou^rht with their blood. 

A week after the battle, the Cadet Corps, 
garlanded-, cheered by ten thousand throats, 
marched grandly past the Washington Monu- 
ment at Richmond, to receive a stand of colors 
from the Governor, the band playing lustily — 

' ' Oh ! there's not a trade that's going, 
Worth showing, or knowing, 
Like that from glory growing, 
For the bowld soldier boy." 

We were still too young in the ghastly sport 
to swallow up death in victory. But we proved 
apt scholars. As we moved up the valley, we 
were not hailed as sorrowing friends, but as 
heroes and victors. At Harrisonburg, at 
Staunton, at Charlottesville, at Gordpnsville, 
everywhere, an ovation awaited us, such as has 
seldom greeted any troops. 




I ORT^*'.'", 



